23 March, 2023.

Here ends, I hope, the hiatus of five or six weeks in my writing of this meditation journal.  Two loved ones have suffered ill health, and meditation has been challenged, to say the least. My wife suffered greatly with her back, in such acute pain and related illness that she was in hospital for two weeks; my dog suffers with lymphoma, that will end his life in weeks or, if we are very lucky, months.  When the dog was diagnosed in the middle of my wife’s frightening hospitalization, it began one of my life’s dark chapters; which means, I suppose, that I am one of the earth’s luckiest, for my wife has since been discharged and improves daily at home.

            During this time of anxiety and fear, my meditation practice was challenged, to say the least.  I found I could still meditate regularly, though less frequently.  I expected less than nothing from sitting, though I tried to “expect nothing,” and there were certainly times when I won through to less than nothing, of understanding or insight or the least comfort.  But I was also often surprised when meditation seemed to help me to understanding, calm, and clarity, in the midst of this whirlwind.  I tried to orient my sitting towards “the Way and its virtue,” the Tao and its Te.  By which I mean I hoped to contemplate the Tao directly and to understand how such contemplation might help me while in this world.  Whirling thoughts certainly still whirled, but I found I often experienced some deep calm that allowed me to understand such thoughts within the context of, rather than against, the Tao.  In the course of the last few months I have certainly come to see that trying effortfully to fight down the “monkey mind” (a western-favoured term I find unhelpful) is the gravest of errors and is based on a dualism that Taoist meditation is striving to overcome.  It is fair to say that, except on the worst days of medical fear (such as a week ago, when my dog began refusing all food), I have had meaningful and I might say kind zazen.  On those worst days, I am simply sitting there thinking thoughts, fearing fears, and I cannot see through or past them.  Twenty free minutes in which to worry.  But such days have been few.

            A key question for me is, necessarily, has my practice of meditation helped me in this time of crisis, and if so, how?  It will be some time before I can answer this.  I have had resources of energy that have surprised me, as I became sole caregiver upon my wife’s return from hospital to two loved beings with substantial needs.  I have slept poorly but have been little affected by the loss of sleep.  I have had resources of calm and strength that also surprised me.  It is equally true that on the darkest days—when we briefly feared cancer in my wife, when we had it confirmed in my dog, when he began and continued to refuse food—I have fallen into despair, fear, tears, headaches, I have felt my exhaustion.  At such times I am no proof that meditation might lead one to a better, quieter view of living and dying.  But I am surprised to feel that there is more solid ground under my feet throughout this time of strife than there would have been a year ago or more.